


loudest in the silence

by LtTanyaBoone



Series: a walk to the summit at night [4]
Category: Cardinal (TV 2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Lesbian Character, Episode Tag, F/F, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtTanyaBoone/pseuds/LtTanyaBoone
Summary: "She needs to fill in her DS. But that’s not, not why she was just about to call Dyson. It hadn’t been to brief her DS on her new findings. It had been to hear Noelle’s voice, if only for a moment. Had been to ask her, how she is."//sort of episode tag to S03E05 & S03E06 (so spoilers!) with adjustments to make it fit with the events of the other works in"a walk to the summit at night"





	loudest in the silence

**Author's Note:**

> this might be a long note, so first, warnings:
> 
>  **trigger warnings/content warnings** for: gun violence, death, grief, mental health issues/mental illness, discussion of suicide
> 
> second, i have fixed Jane's name in the previous installments. the downside of being an EFL speaker, sometimes i mishear things, and back when s03E02 first aired, imdb didn't have the info up on who played the kid and their name. (then again, imdb also claims delorme's last name as 'delorm', so there is that)
> 
> third, i want to repeat my "disclaimer" from the tag i did for s03e02 re: sylvie. i love her existence and that she is a character on the show, as well as dyson's acknowledgement of her in this episode (she originally says 'i have a family now', i tweaked it to fit with my version of events). i hope that sylvie ?dyson? has a long and happy life on the show and that her and noelle stay together for years to come. for the sake of this fic series, however, they broke up pre-series 2.
> 
> fourth, the title of this was inspired by [Coeur de Pirate's "Crier Tout Bas"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lEVqmcdA54Y), which is a wonderful song with some very hard-hitting lyrics

Seeing Cardinal stand there as she leaves the precinct, it makes her pause.

She feels, kind of awful, about her outburst the night before. Lise went over it in her head about a million times since then. Went over what he said, what she responded, threw back at him. Everything, in minute details, as well as she can remember it. And she feels like, she should have handled it better. Should have been more understanding, should have been calmer, listened more.

She’d been just so tired, her emotions rubbed raw by the shit night, plus there’d been his accusation that she didn’t care, about Catherine’s death. That Delorme wouldn’t look into her suicide, if she had any reason to suspect that that wasn’t what had happened. When Cardinal had said that, it had hurt. It had felt like a slap across the face, had made her reel with the whiplash from his accusation. And she’d lashed out in turn. Had yelled right back at him.

Then again, perhaps that had finally been what got through to him, in the end. She’s not entirely sure, but he seems, calmer. More focused, in the normal way, not the obsessive fashion he can develop, at times.

Perhaps taking him to Toronto is a bad idea. Perhaps she should be nipping this in the bud. Should insist on him taking the weekend and focus on himself and his daughter. But that he is there, talking to her, telling her he needs her to, run things by. To look at the evidence and see if what she sees is the same as what he does. That he admits, even if not in words, to his own bias and asks for her help, it feels so big, like such an immense gesture of trust, especially after what he accused her of the night before, that Delorme just can’t turn him down. It feels like, after a big rift opening up between them, it’s the first step, to repairing their trust in each other, and she wants to hold onto that. Wants to mend the damage that’s been done, to their relationship. So she offers him to accompany her and tell her, what’s going on during the drive to the city.

* * *

Her fingers are itching as Delorme drums them on her cell phone. She picks it up, unlocks it, her thumb scrolling through her contacts. Stops and selects Dyson’s name, thumb hovering over the call button.

The detective lets out a soft curse and locks the phone, tossing it down onto the table again. She hides her face in her hands, elbows resting on the table as the woman draws a few shuddering breaths.

She needs to fill in her DS. But that’s not, not why she was just about to call Dyson. It hadn’t been to brief her DS on her new findings. It had been to hear Noelle’s voice, if only for a moment. Had been to ask her, how she is. How her niece is doing.

Delorme’s heart clenches in her chest and she lowers her hands. Crosses her arms, glaring at her phone.

She stayed way too long, at the precinct, the night before. By the time McLeod and her had found the surveillance tape footage with their ATM robber, it had been the early hours of the morning. When Delorme left, Dyson was still there, still in her office, blinds drawn. She hadn’t gotten another chance to talk to her, and when she’d come in the next morning, Dyson was busy, so Delorme only left her a note, telling her she was going to Toronto and why.

There have been no calls, no text messages. Either Dyson was busy the whole day, or…

Delorme draws a shuddering breath.

Or she’s purposefully avoiding her.

Honestly, Delorme doesn’t blame her, if that is the case. Everything is so messy, such chaos. And to make matters even worse, it’s the Thanksgiving weekend. First Thanksgiving without her sister, that’s bound to be difficult, for Dyson. Never mind that she now has her little niece to take care of, and try to make this into a decent holiday, or at least give it her best effort.

Plus, there’s Sylvie, too. Delorme knows that the woman has been helping out, has been taking care of Jane, looking after the girl. It must be difficult, to suddenly have your ex-wife back in your life. If this were her and Josh…

Delorme slowly shakes her head, brows dipping into a frown. No, she wouldn’t ask Josh for help. Nor would he offer any such thing. They’re well and truly out of each other’s orbits now, and if she’s being completely honest, Delorme is actually glad for it. If he were still somehow part of her life, that would just add to the complicated disaster all of this is, currently.

With a sharp shake of her head, Delorme grabs the paper cup of coffee and finishes it. Grabs her phone and goes to toss the cup as she unlocks her phone, dialing Dyson’s extension before she can chicken out again.

* * *

There’s this part of her, that just wants to wrap Sam up in her arms and hold her and tell her it will be alright again.

It’s not fair, what the poor girl has had to go through, in the last couple of days. And all because of Asshole Wishart.

Well, okay, Randall Wishart didn’t decide to stalk Sam. He didn’t kill the Barstows. But if he hadn’t decided to have an affair with the girl, they wouldn’t have been at the house. Jack wouldn’t have seen Sam, wouldn’t have found her phone, wouldn’t have started obsessing about her.

Perhaps she shouldn’t be extending an olive branch to him as easily as that, Delorme muses when Cardinal shows up at Commanda’s house. Especially not after he admits to having gone to see Catherine’s psychiatrist, even after Delorme told him she would look into it. Told him to back off, to let her handle it.

But it is Thanksgiving and Delorme doesn’t want to kick him, when he’s already down. And honestly, she needs him. Needs Cardinal to help her, with this case. Needs him around. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, even with him obsessed over his wife’s suicide, he’s still a grounding presence, for her. Still gives Delorme something to focus on, someone to run her ideas by. He usually manages to makes sense, even when her own thoughts feel like they don’t.

She shakes her head as she gets into her car, drumming her fingers against the wheel. Pauses, wondering where she’s supposed to go, now. Home doesn’t sound particularly appealing. It’s just an empty space, these days. The place where she goes to change and shower and catch some sleep. That is, if she manages. A lot of her past couple of attempts were spent tossing and turning and then giving up, Delorme either relocating to her couch and the TV, or getting dressed again and going into work.

She passes the gas station on her way home, suddenly thinking fondly of their version of chili. Not exactly a traditional Thanksgiving meal, but she doesn’t have anything prepared at home, and honestly, she’s not particularly in a mood to do any cooking. Delorme pulls over and reverses the car, going back to the gas station.

She’s just sat down to eat, when her cell phone chirps in her pocket.

“Delorme,” she mumbles, coughing softly as some of the food goes down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay?”

Dyson’s voice makes her sit up straight. She draws a slow breath and tucks her free hand between her legs, to keep herself from fidgeting.

“Yes,” she nods. “Yes, I just, had my mouth full,” she admits, lips quirking into a soft smile as she hears the soft sound Noelle makes, before the line goes silent, neither one of them speaking.

Delorme shifts in her chair, reaching up to run her fingers over the tip of the plastic spoon-fork thing. Her brows crease as she tries to think of the weird English name for it.

“Sylvie is at her parents’, tonight. They’re having Thanksgiving dinner together. And I, I’m, a lousy cook…” Dyson rambles softly, a deep sigh leaving her. “I, forgot. That it’s Thanksgiving. Sylvie had to drop Jane off, at the precinct.”

“I’m sorry,” Delorme murmurs softly, her heart beating in her throat. She hesitates, eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. It’s pretty late.

“Does Jane like pizza?” she suddenly hears herself asking, even as all her instincts scream at her to stop, to leave it be. To, back off, and pretend that this call never happened, come morning.

But the thing is, Dyson, she called her. She reached out, to Lise. Not as her DS, but as, as a friend. A friend in need. Someone who has no idea, how to deal with this, how to navigate suddenly having to take care of a child and dealing with her own grief at the same time.

“Why?” Dyson asks, and Lise can just imagine her brows drawing together just a little. She shakes her head and gets up, grabbing the plastic dish and her spork to toss it.

“Because I could pick some up,” she tells her, stepping from the gas station restaurant and heading for her car, unlocking it as she walks. “If you tell me, what she likes, and what you’d want, I’ll pick some up, for you, and drop it off.”

“I could just call delivery,” Dyson points out to her as Delorme buckles herself in and puts the phone into the holder, the engine of her car whirring to life.

“You could,” she agrees, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back towards the town.

There’s some silence, again, and Delorme finds herself checking the display of her phone, to make sure the call hasn’t been dropped.

“Salami,” Dyson finally says. “Jane likes plain salami.”

“Okay,” Delorme nods. “Give me forty minutes,” she tells her and hears her DS let out what sounds like an exasperated sigh before she agrees and hangs up, after whispering a soft thank you.

* * *

“She’s finally down,” Dyson declares as she returns to the kitchen, where Delorme is cleaning up the remains of their impromptu Thanksgiving feast. One salami pizza, one Hawaiian, and one with the random stuff she sometimes picks. Ham, mushrooms, artichokes. She thinks that she originally started eating that when she first started dating Josh, actually. He used to get some kind of pizza that had those toppings, plus some other stuff Delorme doesn’t particularly like and always picked off. Over the years, she just putting her own together from the things she liked, if she felt in the mood.

Jane had actually wanted to try that herself, and ended up eating more of those toppings than of her own little pizza. Not that Lise is mad about it. It had been nice, to see the girl smile softly as she ate. Had been cute, to see her interact with Dyson, too, the older woman so obviously struggling to find a balance, between being cheerful and sad.

“Good,” she nods, jerking her head towards the cardboard box on the counter. “The rest is in that, if you want to have that tomorrow, for lunch,” she tells her, wiping her hands on the towel.

“Thank you, Lise,” Noelle suddenly says, meeting her eyes for a moment. “I, I wouldn’t have known…,” she trails off, looking away. Delorme watches her fists curl at Dyson’s sides, before they loosen again.

“Sometimes, she seems, unfazed. Almost happy. And then the next moment…” she frowns.

It makes Delorme lean back against the counter and cross her arms.

“Children deal with grief differently,” she points out to the other woman. “You know that,” she adds in a softer tone.

They’ve been briefed on that a couple of times, for their work. How to deal with child witnesses. How they differ, from adults. And how their grief responses can be startling, to an adult, as well.

“Chances are it hasn’t sunken in yet. Or perhaps it has, and she is starting to cope,” she tilts her head, her own gaze growing distant as she remembers her own response, to her mother passing away. She’d been much older than Jane, had been an adult already. There’d been moments when she’d felt overwhelmed with grief, and then others where she’d actually forgotten it had happened, just for a few moments. Times where she’d felt light and carefree, before it had hit her all over again, the pain of that loss.

“Maybe,” Dyson says with a small shake of her head. She frowns, gesturing towards the box of leftovers. “You wanna take those?”

“No thanks,” Delorme laughs softly. “I think I had enough pizza for the rest of the week,” she adds with a soft smile. Hesitates, shifting on her feet.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks.”

Dyson and her stare at each other in surprise before their lips tug into a soft smile.

“I… I didn’t have anything planned, tonight,” Delorme admits, rubbing her hands over her thighs in a nervous gesture. “So, uh, thank you. For, not making me spend Thanksgiving alone.”

“I think you saved the day,” Dyson shakes her head with a sigh. “I had no idea, where to even start, with, all of this,” she frowns, crossing her arms for a moment, before she reaches up to run a hand through her hair nervously.

“I’m sorry it’s this soon,” Lise tells her honestly. “But, as a, suggestion… After my mother passed, my father and I tried to, make the holidays just like they used to be, before. Needless to say, it didn’t work. All it did, was drive home how much her absence hurt,” she shrugs, her voice shaking slightly. She pauses, licking her lips. “There’s nothing wrong, with acknowledging your pain. And building something new. New traditions. It might help Jane, too.”

“Maybe,” Dyson nods, a deep sigh escaping her. She takes a step towards Delorme and reaches out, fingers ghosting over the back of her hand.

“Glass of wine?” she suddenly offers, and Lise knows she shouldn’t. She should say no, should really get going. It is exceedingly late, and tomorrow will probably be a long day, again. She should go home, try to get some sleep.

But she wants to stay. Part of her wants to stay right here, in this kitchen, with Noelle. Wants to curl up on her couch with the other woman, to watch a cheesy movie and share a glass of wine and just forget about the lousy day.

“Sure,” she nods, turning her hand to catch Noelle’s fingers. Their eyes meet, searching, and Delorme finds hers widening a fraction in surprise as Dyson starts leaning in.

Her lips brush over Lise’s in the softest caress and she feels a soft whimper escape her. Her hands ghost over Noelle’s hips, hesitating, and then Dyson shifts. Takes another step closer, and Delorme feels her control snap. Her fingers dig into the material of Noelle’s pants as she pulls her roughly against herself, mouth opening as she claims Dyson’s in a heated kiss. She feels Noelle’s hand fist into her hair, pull her closer, as the other woman starts tugging Lise’s blouse free of her pants, her body singing out with need.

* * *

Her knuckles rap softly on the door to Dyson’s office, Delorme pausing until the older woman looks up before she steps in. She hesitates, before closing the door behind herself. This isn’t something she wants anyone else to be able to listen in on.

She stayed the night, actually. Well, kind of. Stayed at least some of it, allowing herself to fall asleep briefly in Dyson’s arms, before her cell phone vibrating on the wood of the bedside table had woken her. A text from Cardinal, wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving. He’d sent it in the middle of the night, making her wonder if he was having difficulty sleeping. If perhaps he’d gotten a bit drunk.

She’d been torn, between wanting to curl up against Dyson again after reading the message, and getting up and leaving. In the end, the feeling of Noelle’s lips against the back of her neck had made her decide on leaving. Which, seemed like a strange choice at first glance, especially since the older woman’s arm had tightened briefly around Lise’s waist as she started getting up again. But ultimately, it had been the right one.

Noelle and her, they’re not… they’re not good, at talking about, this. About what it is, between them. And Lise isn’t ready for that, not yet. Even if she wants it, even if she finds herself yearning for this intimacy between them, these moments alone with Noelle. But they terrify her, too. Especially now that it’s no longer just Dyson and her. There is Jane, too. There’s this little girl, who has just lost her mother. Who seemingly likes Sylvie, who’s fond of her aunt’s ex-wife. And Delorme, she doesn’t want to complicate things further. Doesn’t want to confuse the child, or make things harder for Dyson and her ex-wife.

At least this time she didn’t steal away like a thief in the night. She got dressed with Dyson watching her, actually, which had made Lise flush, the woman’s gaze on her body making heat pool in the pit of her stomach again. And when she’d been done, she’d hesitated, before walking back over and leaning in for a quick kiss. And Noelle, she’d cradled her face, and touched her forehead to Delorme’s for a moment, before letting her go. Had whispered a soft ‘drive safely’ as she’d slipped from her bedroom, making Delorme’s heart thunder in her chest.

“Fox just called me,” she tells her DS now. “He found Driftwood Perch. It’s the old Scriver house.”

“Okay,” Dyson nods, throat working. “Take some uniforms, check it out,” she tells her. Pauses. “Be careful.”

“I will,” Delorme nods, shifting. Reaches out, resting a hand on the back of one of the chairs in front of her DS’s desk.

“I heard about what happened,” she tells her. Searches Dyson’s face, tries to meet her eyes, but the woman is staring at her keyboard.

“This isn’t your fault,” Delorme hears herself say, voice soft, gentle.

Dyson draws a slow breath, leaning back in her chair heavily.

“I sent him out there.”

“You did not draw up the roster,” Lise shakes her head, stepping closer.

“And even if you had, this still wouldn’t be your fault,” she adds. “Jackson Till was the one with the gun. He was the one who pulled the trigger. This isn’t on you, not any more than the kid at the laundromat was.”

She watches Dyson reach up, touch her fingertips to her forehead. Lise shifts, licking her lips as she searches for the right words.

She inclines her head, pursing her lips as she tries to come up with something, anything, to make this easier for Dyson. She can imagine how she felt. After the ATM robbery that landed that kid in the hospital, Delorme kicked herself over and over again. Blamed herself, for letting it happen on her watch. The same way she is kicking herself for the ATM robber getting killed. And those, those were mere strangers, to her. People she didn’t know beforehand. And it looks like the kid from the ATM will be fine, will probably make a full recovery.

But the cop won’t. And Dyson, she feels responsible, for them. Feels responsible for every single of one of them in the ABPD. She’s their DS, the woman they need to have their backs. The one they need to be able to trust without second-guessing, without hesitation.

And Delorme does. Even after what happened earlier, she trusts Dyson. Trusts her judgment, trusts her decisions. The roadblocks and ID checks, they’re necessary. They needed to put them up, need to keep them up. Even after what happened.

And as macabre as it sounds, this has taught them something, at least. Winston and the rest of her merry gang seem to still be in town. They know where at least one of them passed, tightening the net just the smallest bit. It’s not much, but it is something.

Lise shifts, drawing a breath. She opens her mouth again, but Dyson jerks her head.

“Make sure you all wear vests,” she says before returning her attention back to the paperwork on her desk.

“I will,” Delorme nods, drumming her fingers on the back of the chair briefly, before she inclines her head and steps from the office again, a weight settling low in her stomach.

* * *

She doesn’t want to do this. Doesn’t even know why she says it in the first place. Her mouth moving, her urge to be, be some perverted version of Devil’s Advocate getting ahead of her.

“She went to the roof, to take photos,” Delorme says, brows knitting. “Her mind went to a bad place.”

It sounds, wrong, even to her own ears. Sounds too easy. Sounds like it’s, it’s not fitting. Doesn’t fit with what she knew, of Catherine Cardinal. Doesn’t fit with what she saw just a few moments ago, on the recording.

That woman, in Doctor Bell’s office, she’s, determined. Despite her pain in some parts, and it is a deep pain, one that Delorme can feel echoing in herself, at the end, Catherine Cardinal seems determined to make good on her promise to warn others about her doctor’s strange practices.

And Cardinal, he is right. Catherine’s threat, to expose Bell, to damage his reputation and warn future clients, that is motive. A pretty strong one, too, Delorme things, given that the man’s image seems to have taken a couple of hits, over the years. Someone like that, they might want to prevent further damage to their career and ego.

Plus, there is the fact of him knowing exactly where Catherine would be, the night of her death. That, more than anything else, makes Delorme think they could actually be onto something, here.

“Okay,” she nods, deciding that they actually do have enough evidence to take it to Dyson. To show her this.

In Dyson’s office, Delorme finds that she can’t sit still as the woman watches the recording of the kid from the laundromat. She thought listening to Catherine Cardinal’s session was hard. This one, it’s downright heartbreaking. The anguish, the desperation in the young man’s voice, they tear at her heart. And those responses, from the man that was supposed to help him. That had been supposed to prevent him from hurting himself, to guide him through his issues. The coldness in them, the taunting.

Delorme bites her lower lip in an attempt to stave of tears as she watches Noelle stare at the screen, speechless.

“Son of a bitch,” the older woman curses as she pauses the recording, and Lise finds herself wholeheartedly agreeing with her, right there. She’s seen enough, really. As far as she is concerned, Bell belongs in a prison cell. Needs to be removed from his patients, before he can do any more harm to them. Before he ends up pushing another one of them to kill themselves.

Cardinal swallows thickly and just nods as Noelle tells him she will also be reopening the investigation into his wife’s death. Delorme knows that that had been his goal, but when he finally gets it, the man is too overcome with emotion to say anything. He just nods and gets up, leaving the office.

Delorme watches him go, pausing, before she steps over and closes the door softly. Turns to look at Dyson again, who’s now biting down on the nail of her thumb, glaring down at the computer.

“I know this is, a lot,” she tells her and sees Dyson startle briefly. “But I hope…” Lise trails off, not entirely sure where she is going, with this.

“You did everything you could,” she adds with a small shake of her head. “After this… there was no way anyone could have saved him.”

Dyson draws a slow breath, reaching up to rub a hand over her face.

“Hey,” Delorme murmurs, taking a step closer. Her hand is itching with the urge to reach out, touch Dyson’s shoulder. Give it a squeeze, tell her she’s here. The urge to take her hand and press a gentle kiss to Noelle’s palm and just sit here, for a few moments, holding onto her.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, her voice low. She knows that this is, is painful. That she has to tread lightly.

The older woman allows a sigh to escape her and shakes her head. Runs her index finger over the edge of the laptop, brows dipping slightly.

“I want to see that son of a bitch burn,” she admits, and Delorme can feel her heart rate increase at the anger she hears in Dyson’s voice. “How do you do that, to someone? Perry, he did the right thing. He did what he was supposed to do. He went and got help. And the person who was supposed to be helping him, he instead drove him to the brink.”

She casts her eyes down, touching her fingertips to the DS’s desk.

“Did we make a huge mistake?” she hears Dyson ask. Looks up to see the brunette watch her, dark eyes intense. “When we told Cardinal, to back off…”

Lise draws a slow breath, sinking down into the free chair. She rubs her hands over her thighs.

“Maybe,” she admits. “But at the time, it made sense,” she offers. “Trust me, I do not feel great about it,” she shakes her head at Noelle’s look.

“But Catherine, she had a history of mental illness, of severe depression. There was a note. We thought she was alone up there, there’d been no sign of anyone else. No indication of foul play,” Delorme shakes her head. She looks away, gazing out Dyson’s window, for a moment.

“Perhaps it made sense to us, because we don’t understand mental illness as well. That John pushes so hard, that he kept digging into this and refused to accept that she’d committed suicide, it seemed like something any grieving spouse would do,” she sighs.

“But if you are asking, do I feel bad, about not believing him? Yes, I do,” she admits as she ducks her head, shame burning across her face. “I just told him earlier, I have told him so many times before, wanting to believe that Catherine did not kill herself doesn’t make it true. And I feel like shit for saying that,” she murmurs, drawing a ragged breath before she reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Is it strange that I thought about perhaps seeing someone, and now I think, no, I’m good?” Dyson asks, a humorless chuckle leaving the Detective Sergeant.

Delorme’s eyes fly open and she stares at the other woman in surprise. Dyson, considering therapy? That, that’s new. And kind of scary, if she’s being honest.

Not because therapy or counselling or any of those things are a bad thing. They’re not. Delorme believes that they can immensely helpful. It’s just, she has this, image, of Dyson. This impression, that the older woman won’t ask for help, unless her head is already well under water and she doesn’t think she’ll be able to come up for air in time.

That she felt like she needs professional help, to deal with all of what’s going on, it just drives home how much of an impact all of this has had, on the DS. On how difficult she really finds it to deal with it. And Delorme wishes she would have known about it sooner. That she could have done something, anything, to alleviate at least some of her pain.

“Because of what happened with your sister?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

Noelle purses her lips, drumming her fingers on the laptop briefly.

“Yes and no,” she sighs. “My sister wasn’t the only reason. Things have been…” she frowns, trailing off, and Lise feels her lips tug into a soft smile.

“They have,” she agrees with a small nod. Swallows, and wonders if she should ask. If Noelle would be honest, if she did. If she’d tell her the truth, when Lise asked if she was part of what made her consider therapy. Would tell her, if what was going on, between the two of them, made her need someone to talk to, as well.

Instead of asking, she draws a deep breath.

“I have been talking, to some other therapists. If you do want to do this, look into it… I have a list of names that come with pretty high recommendations. Doctor Jones being one of them,” she tells her.

Dyson doesn’t meet her eyes as she says it, but Lise does see her incline her head slightly. She gives her another moment, before nodding, and then getting up again. She has some reports to return to, and it feels like Dyson could do with some time alone.

* * *

She’s gonna throw up.

Her leg feels like it’s being set on fire. Her skin is clammy, her body working hard to somehow handle the trauma of the gunshot to her leg. Delorme’s stomach keeps rolling, waves of nausea washing over her as she fights to stay conscious.

This was, this was such a stupid mistake. Such an idiotic, stupid mistake. She should have seen that trap coming from a mile away, should have realized that there was something wrong. One of them, they should have stayed in the car. Both of them getting out, it was a mistake. An idiotic mistake, and now she’s going to die, and Cardinal, too, probably.

And her thoughts keep going back to Noelle. Keep circling around their last interaction. How much Lise had wanted to reach out and touch her. Had wanted to brush her fingers over the other woman’s, had wanted so badly to hold her hand.

She won’t get to do that again, now. Delorme bites back a hysterical laugh at the thought. This is it, these are the last moments of her life, and she’s spending them on the floor in some cabin, in excruciating pain.

She turns her head, meeting Cardinal’s eyes. The cut on his cheekbone has at least stopped bleeding, it doesn’t look like Scriver/Winston broke anything. Thank God for small mercies.

“Get up.”

Delorme lets out a whimper at the thought, before she bites down on her tongue. She’s not going to give Scriver/Winston the satisfaction of seeing her in tears, of seeing her beg. If she wants her dead, then so be it. Delorme won’t fall down on her knees in an attempt to convince her otherwise. It would probably be in vain, too, since the woman seems to believe she’s the one who killed one of theirs.

She manages to make it outside somehow, hobbling along next to John and holding onto him. Her entire body is revolting against the trauma of the gunshot wound, her stomach turning again, her vision keeps going blurry and she feels lightheaded, as if she’s on the brink of passing out. It’ll be a miracle if she makes the plane ride fully conscious.

Everything that happens outside is a blur. Her holding onto Cardinal and trying to stay upright. Talking to Nikki, she doesn’t really know what she’s saying, just knows she has to say something, has to keep talking. The girl seems like the most sensible of the entire bunch, seems like the one that could be made to see the truth of the situation.

At the sound of the gunshot, Delorme jumps, her ears ringing loudly. Cardinal’s grip on her arm tightens, his fingers digging into her hip as Delorme feels panic bubble up inside of her. This, this is it. If Scriver has no trouble shooting one of her own because she won’t follow an order to kill, then they are as good as dead.

She’s so, so sorry. For doing this, to John. He should have gone back, should have gone to the precinct when they brought in Doctor Bell. Then he wouldn’t be here, with her. He’d be able to see his wife get justice, would be able to see her killer in cuffs. Now he won’t ever get that closure, and Lise, she’s so terribly sorry, for all of it.

Throwing herself at Scriver is an instinct. One that doesn’t take into account how badly injured she is. Delorme loses her balance, causing both of them to tumble to the ground gracelessly, her good leg searching for purchase as pain shoots up the other, making it difficult for her to remain conscious and fight back.

She hears John demand that Scriver drop the gun, and as the woman’s grip on her throat tightens, Delorme sees the dark metal come closer to her head out of the corner of her eye. She shakes her head, fighting back against the looming darkness of unconsciousness.

“Shoot, John!” she calls, her heart racing in her throat. She’s wearing her vest, if the bullet goes through Scriver, it will be stopped, and even if it doesn’t, then that’s a small price to pay. She already has a bullet in her leg, one more in her body won’t make that much of a difference. She’d be able to survive that, probably. A bullet to the head, however, that’s no anything she’ll be able to come back from, and she needs John to just do it, to shoot, to end this struggle-

The warm splatter of blood across her face makes her gasp in horror as Scriver’s body goes slack and falls heavily on top of her. Delorme lets out a low sob, trying to push the woman off of her, but she’s panicked and too weak to do it. John has to lift her off and then Delorme scoots back, pulling the sleeve of her shirt over her hand and wiping at the disgusting splatter on her face, to get the blood off.

Her heart is in her throat and she lets herself fall back, chest heaving as she draws big breaths, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She closes her eyes, throwing an arm across them to cover at least part of her face as she starts to break down in tears, the emotional rollercoaster of the last few hours catching up with her and hitting her like a freight train.

* * *

She jerks awake some hours later, fingers digging into a soft mattress as Delorme tries to sit up, tries to push herself away from her attacker-

“Easy, easy. You’re okay, it’s okay, Lise.”

Her head snaps up and she stares at Dyson in surprise, pain shooting up her leg a moment later, causing her to let out a gasping moan.

Delorme clenches her eyes shut and falls back into the pillows, fingers digging into the mattress and tears burning in the corners of her eyes. She feels Dyson’s hand on her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze, before it turns into a softer touch, a gentle stroking over her hospital gown as Delorme draws a couple of ragged breaths, trying to breathe through the pain.

It takes her a bit. Until the morphine finally kicks in, actually, and she no longer feels like her leg is being set ablaze.

“You should be home,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed. She’s so tired, so absolutely exhausted. But she doesn’t want to close her eyes. Because Noelle, Noelle is here. She’s sitting at her hospital bed, holding her hand, thumb stroking over the skin on the back, carefully avoiding her IV.

“It’s alright,” Dyson replies, reaching up to brush a few tendrils of hair from Lise’s face. “Jane’s fine, we had dinner together.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh,” the brunette nods, and Delorme thinks she sees her lips quirking into a brief smile. “She said the pizza was much better than my cooking.”

It makes her laugh softly, the childish truthfulness and innocence of the statement. Something about the way her face moves sparks a memory and Delorme reaches up, touching her hand to her face, the left side. The one that has gotten splattered with Scriver’s blood when John shot her.

“It’s okay,” Dyson tells her, reaching out to take her hand and gently pulls it away from Lise’s face. “You’re all cleaned up.”

The words make her frown briefly, before she lets her head fall back into the pillow with a groan. They took off her make-up. She probably looks like death warmed over, right now. She can imagine that she’s a bit pale, with the blood loss, and that always makes her freckles stand out more.

Opening her eyes again, she sees Dyson stare down at their hands. Lise tilts her head and holds her tongue. Watches the other woman, instead. The soft expression on her face, the tired lines around her eyes.

“How did it go?” she asks, startling Noelle slightly. She watches her jerk in surprise, before the older woman looks up, brows knitting into a slight frown.

“With Bell,” Delorme specifies. Sees Dyson’s mouth open in surprise, her eyes widening when she realizes that Delorme missed all of what went down with the interrogation of the doctor.

“Did John tell you, Catherine used to always carry two cameras?”

Delorme frowns, trying to remember, before she slowly shakes her head no.

“I don’t think so, no,” she answers Dyson’s question. “I think there was only one, with her belongings, though,” she adds, confusion burning through her brain as she tries to remember, her thoughts fuzzy from the drugs and pain she’s still in.

“There was,” the DS confirms. “McLeod and Fox started digging through all the stuff from the dumpster, all the electronics. They didn’t find the camera, but they came across an SD card full of pictures. Scenery stuff, sill lives. A couple of pictures, from the rooftop, taking in the view and light,” Dyson tells her. She shifts in the chair, a dark look crossing her face.

“The last picture was of him. An almost full body shot, of Doctor Bell.”

“Osti de tabarnak de sacrament!” she exclaims, feeling her cheeks heat up immediately after. She doesn’t usually curse, and especially not to that extent.

To her surprise, she hears Dyson let out a soft chuckle and feels her squeeze her hands, lips tugging into an amused smile.

“I don’t think he’ll be able to talk himself out of that one,” she remarks, a soft sigh following the statement.

“How’s Cardinal taking it?” Lise inquires, her heart aching for her partner. She knows that, in the end, this was what he’d hoped for, what he’s wanted to find. But still, it must be a painful experience, and it does not change the fact of the matter that Catherine is still dead.

“Surprisingly well, I think,” their DS answers. “He was pretty calm, about the whole thing. He went to be with his daughter, after. I think the two of them, they have a lot to talk about. This, it kind of, it changes the grieving process, doesn’t it?”

Delorme looks up at the ceiling, for a moment, contemplating the question.

“Probably,” she admits, blinking, finding that she actually has to fight to open her eyes again, the drugs and her general exhaustion trying to drag her back down into sleep.

“You need to get some rest,” Dyson declares, searching her face, the soft look in her dark eyes returning. Delorme rolls her eyes, but doesn’t protest. Instead she closes her eyes and inclines her head.

She’s almost completely asleep when she hears the chair scrape softly across the floor. Thinks that Dyson is about to leave, but she can’t get her eyes to open again.

She feels Dyson let go of her hands, disappointment swelling inside Lise’s chest. It’s okay. She’ll be asleep in a few moments, anyway, plus, Dyson probably has a lot of work left to do. And even if she doesn’t, she should get going. Should go home and be with her niece.

To her surprise, she suddenly feels Dyson’s hand on her cheek. Feels her thumb gentle caress the skin, and then there’s the softest brush of lips against her forehead, just below Delorme’s hairline, and she can feel her lips quirk into a soft smile, a content sigh leaving her as Lise falls back asleep.

* * *

There’s no way in hell she’s missing this.

Delorme shakes out two more of the painkillers into the palm of her hand and then puts them into her mouth before throwing her head back as she swallows them. Takes a couple sips of water, closing her eyes as she waits for the damn meds to kick in.

When she can feel the throbbing pain in her leg dull, she grabs the crutches and starts hobbling towards the gallery entrance, biting back a few curses under her breath.

Cardinal told her she didn’t have to come. Especially not tonight. Told her that the show would be on for a couple of weeks, that there was no rush. But she wanted to be there. Wanted to be here, tonight, for the opening.

It feels like the least she can do, after not having believed him, about Catherine’s staged suicide. Feels like she owes it to the woman to be there and make things right.

Hobbling into the gallery, she’s surprised to see Noelle heading for the exit.

“You’re leaving already?” she asks, shifting her weight briefly, before remembering that it’s a very bad idea to put any of it on her injured leg.

“Yes,” Dyson nods, shifting. “I’ve got to take Jane to her swimming lesson. I promised I’d be there this time,” she adds with a slight tilt of her head and Delorme finds herself ducking hers, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

She remembers dinner a few days ago. Remembers the girl complaining that Noelle hadn’t come yet again, even though she’d said she would. It had been, awkward. Especially because Delorme’d run into Sylvie a little earlier, when she’d dropped off Jane.

Well, not run, exactly. Hobbled and stumbled, on her way back from the bathroom. Wearing an oversized men’s shirt and shorts and looking just a little too comfortable, at Noelle’s house, probably. Way too comfortable, for a police detective at their boss’s house.

It’s been, interesting, between them. Delorme thinks that she’s spent most nights, since she was discharged from the hospital, at Noelle’s place. At first because she’d stopped by to thank the other woman, for the visits while she was still in the hospital. She’d been on stronger painkiller then, and they’d fully kicked in while she was over, making Delorme exceptionally drowsy, so Dyson had made up the guest bedroom, for her. She’d been too drugged and tired to even argue then. Which, it isn’t something she’s proud of. It’s certainly not something she did on purpose.

But somehow, it led to her sleeping over a couple of times. Especially in the beginning, when the pain was a lot worse. When she kept having nightmares. Not being alone in the house, it helped. It’s getting better now, and she feels better, too, about being alone. Is taking different painkillers now, as well. Ones that aren’t as strong, that don’t make her nearly as drowsy.

Dyson takes a few steps now, before hesitating. She casts a glance around, before moving a little closer.

“I have been thinking,” she starts, her voice low. “I should probably, take some time away. I mean, I, I kind of, have a child now. I still need to figure out, how all of that works,” she shakes her head with a soft smile. Hesitates, as she draws a slow breath, meeting Delorme’s eyes.

She returns the gaze, intrigued by Dyson’s words.

“John’s a good investigator, but somehow, it doesn’t really feel like I should, hand this, to him. It’s a lot of paperwork,” Noelle remarks, and Lise lets out a soft chuckle.

“Do you want me, to do your job?” she asks, only half joking. She would. If that’s what Noelle needs, to be able to take time of, she will do it, in a heartbeat. If there’s a way, for Delorme to make things easier for the older woman, to help her find a new balance, she’ll do it, without hesitation.

“Maybe?” Dyson frowns before looking away, her jaw working. “Or perhaps… Perhaps, you and I, we might, figure this out, together?”

Lise feels her jaw drop in surprise, her eyes widening in utter shock.

That’s certainly not something she expected. Never would have imagined any suggestion like this, really.

Perhaps it is the discovery of a very strange, awkward but also comfortable kind of domesticity, while Delorme stayed over, that’s making Dyson suggest this. Maybe it is Jane’s seemingly easy acceptance of Delorme, of her presence in their lives.

Or perhaps it is her recent brush with death that is putting things into perspective. That’s led to both Dyson and her having to confront some things, for themselves.

Delorme shifts, bracing her weight on the right crutch. Opens the hand around the left one, extending her fingers. Their tips just barely brush against Noelle’s hand and she watches the brunette look down sharply, surprise registering on her features.

“Perhaps we could,” she answers, her voice barely a whisper in the gallery, but still sounding so loud that it’s almost deafening for Lise.

Noelle looks up again, her lips tugging into a soft smile. She reaches out, squeezing Lise’s upper arm.

“Come by later, if you’d like,” she murmurs before stepping away, and Delorme listens to her retreating footsteps, her heart soaring in her chest.

* * *

They’re nearly done, with the surveillance footage, when Delorme’s phone chimes, signaling a text message.

The corners of her lips tug into a smile as she takes in the picture of Jane in the snow, arms extended and head tilted all the way back to stare at the sky, flakes of snow drifting down all around her.

She manages to convince John to let her drive back on her own. After all, she did make it out to his house on her own, she can get back into town fine. Well, alright, maybe not fine. It is kind of awkward, driving like this, but she’ll manage. Somehow.

Delorme hobbles up the steps to Dyson’s house, her crutches clambering on the wood. The door opens before she can even get situated to knock, Jane grinning up at her.

“Oh,” Lise breathes, shifting. “Does your aunt know you came to the door?”

“Yeah,” the girl nods, turning around and disappearing into the house at a run. Lise shakes her head at the antics of the child before drawing a slow breath and moving inside.

She takes her time closing the door and setting her crutches against the wall. Slowly takes off her coat and hangs it up, something, warm, spreading in her chest as she looks at it on the rack, resting next to Jane’s brightly colored jacket and Noelle’s equally dark one hung up on the other side of that.

“You missed dinner.”

Lise looks over sharply to see Dyson lean against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

“It’s fine,” she tells the older woman. “I already ate. John made chili.”

“How did that go?” Noelle chuckles and Lise feels her lips quirk into a soft smile.

“Wasn’t half bad,” she admits, taking a hobbling step towards her. She casts a glance over Dyson’s shoulder, looking for the child, but Jane seems to be nowhere in sight. So she reaches out, gently touching her hand to Noelle’s, a lump in her throat as usual at the soft, intimate gesture. The silent question in it.

Dyson shifts, untangling her arms, and takes Lise’s hand, entwining their fingers for a moment. Gives her hand a squeeze, keeping the hold tight, for a moment, thumb brushing over the back of Delorme’s hand.

She closes her eyes, relief flooding her at the gesture as the corners of her mouth quirk into a soft smile.

It’s still so strange. This mixture of happiness and excitement she feels when she’s with Noelle like this. And the nervousness and downright apprehension that always bubbles under the surface, as well. That it won’t, won’t last. That their time with each other is limited and she’s already running out, burning through the few hours they might have left together.

She tries not to dwell on that. Tries not to let her doubts cloud her brain too much. Tries to stay in the moment and just enjoy this while it lasts. Tries to not let her insecurities get the better of her.

Noelle moves. Steps closer and drops Lise’s hand in favor of being able to wrap her arms around her in a gentle hug. Delorme closes her eyes and lifts her arms, returning the gesture. She turns her head, tucking her face into Noelle’s neck for a moment, just enjoying her closeness, the way she feels, in her arms.

As Dyson leans back, she meets Lise’s eyes, stroking her cheek before she tightens her hold around her waist.

“Let’s get you off your feet, shall we?” she murmurs, slipping under Lise’s arm. The police detective shifts her weight, allowing a low chuckle to escape her as the two of them start making their way to the living room, so that Lise can get settled on the couch and elevate her leg again.

Jane has already curled up in the corner with a blanket, scooting close to Lise once she’s gotten settled. She offers her a corner of the blanket and Lise takes it, draping it over her lap as Dyson sits down next to her niece, wrapping an arm around her niece and pressing a soft kiss to the girl’s temple.

“What are we watching?” she asks as Jane presses ‘play’ on the remote, the Disney logo coming up on the screen.

“ _The Little Mermaid_ ,” the girl answers, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “Lise said it’s her favorite.”

“It is?” Dyson asks, looking over with a surprised expression, and Lise feels herself blush.

“I may have had a certain, fondness, for Ariel,” she admits, heat coloring her cheeks. Noelle lets out a laugh at that, the sound ringing through the air and making Jane giggle, as well, even though Lise is pretty sure that the girl doesn’t understand exactly what she’d meant, with that particular statement. Which is totally fine. There are some things that Lise isn’t entirely sure she wants Noelle’s niece to know about, her having had a ridiculous crush on a cartoon mermaid being amongst them.

“Sh, it’s starting,” Jane hisses, eyes trimmed on the TV with her mouth slightly open.

Lise meets Noelle’s eyes over the girl’s head, the two of them exchanging a soft smile as Lise feels the other woman’s fingers brush against her arm briefly, before they both turn their attention to the movie.

Outside the window, the snow flakes keep twirling slowly to the ground.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> and i think that's it? that's all i have to tell, in regards to this story, at least at this point. this was heaps of fun, even if it got kind of, dark and messy at times.
> 
> i'm honestly impressed by the quality of this season and the treatment these female characters have received from the show. cardinal is a crime show, in my mind, and i am so used to those treating their female characters like absolute shit that seeing these wonderful moments play on my screen was a surreal experience, at some points
> 
> and bc my anxiety demands i do this: if anyone else wants to write for this show, please, please do it! i feel like crap, seeing that all fic for this fandom on here is posted by me, at the moment, and i don't want that to intimidate anyone into not touching this fandom, on the contrary! i am more than happy, to have someone join me in this fantastic little sandbox, and i'd be more than happy to share my little shovel and bucket with anyone who wants to give cardinal fic a go
> 
>  
> 
> [if you want updates when i post stories, feel free to check out my tumblr](https://lttanyaboone.tumblr.com)


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